


Sick Day

by Pineapplemoon



Series: Boredom [10]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapplemoon/pseuds/Pineapplemoon
Summary: Neal falls victim to the latest flu making its way through the office, and Peter stays home to take care of him.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: Boredom [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/907152
Kudos: 69





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized I still had two chapters left on my computer that I never finished fixing up. Whoops.

It’s a beautiful mid fall Saturday morning when El’s in the kitchen making breakfast while Peter is at the table drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying the morning paper.

"Neal's still not up?" El asks as she takes a seat with two plates of food in her hands.

Peter folds the paper up and makes room for the plate El brought him. "Not yet, I'll go get him." Peter goes upstairs and knocks on the door. “Hey, Neal, time to get up.” He waits a moment for a response, but doesn’t get one. “Neal?” He knocks again. Still not getting an answer, he opens the door. The room is dark and he sees a figure curled up in bed facing away from him. He walks closer and sees Neal shivering. He’s told Neal a thousand times not to sleep with the window open.

Neal cracks an eye open, but closes them again quickly, groaning like a dying whale the whole time.

“Yeah, I feel like that every morning, Neal. It doesn’t mean you get to sleep all day.” Peter says with a smile.

Peter only gets another groan in response and a string of sounds that may or may not have been words. He has a hunch with what’s wrong, and he confirms it when he feels Neal’s forehead with the back of his hand. With a frown, Peter walks out of the room without a word and returns a minute later with a thermometer. He sits down on the edge of the bed and speaks quietly to Neal.

“I’m going to need you to sit up, Neal. Can you do that for me?” Neal groans and shifts in bed until he’s sitting up. He moans and rests his head against Peter’s shoulder as he closes his eyes again.

“Don’ feel good, Pet’r.” Neal mutters.

Peter rubs his hand up and down Neal’s arm. “I know, buddy, but I’m going to need you to open your mouth for a second and put this under your tongue until it beeps, alright?” 

Neal nods, not trusting himself to speak, and opens his mouth. Neal makes sure the thermometer is under his tongue and tries to ignore the pounding in his head. After a minute, the thermometer beeps and Peter checks the reading. He hums at the results. “102.2. Looks like you caught yourself a case of the flu.”

“My ‘ead ‘urts.” Neal groans.

“Does anything else hurt?” Peter asks. 

“M’ st’mach.” Neal mutters in Peter’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Peter starts to get up. “Lay down while I go get some flu meds.” Neal just nods, eyes still closed, as Peter goes downstairs.

“Where’s Neal?” El asks when she sees her husband come downstairs alone.

“Neal has caught the flu.” Peter replies as he puts a piece of bread in the toaster and gets some orange juice out of the fridge, pouring some in a glass. 

“Did you take his temperature? If it’s too high I can stay home to watch over him.” El says as she grabs her phone from the table.

Peter puts his hand over her phone. “It’s fine, Hon. He has a temperature of 102.2 and I have vacation days. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because-” Peter cuts her off with a quick kiss.

“Everything here will be fine.” He repeats. “And I know how important this gig is to you.”

El sighs. “Alright. But call me if anything happens.”

“I promise.” He kisses her again. “Now go. Someone has to be bringing home a paycheck.” Peter jokes.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

El’s phone rings in her hand. She checks the caller ID and sees it’s her assistant. She answers after turning around and grabs her purse off the table. “I know I’m late.” She listens to the other side of the line and whispers sorry to Peter as she walks out the door. “Well, tell the caterer to-” Her voice cuts off as the front door slams shut and Peter is left alone with a sick Neal. The toaster pops out the toast and he runs over to finish Neal’s breakfast.

*line break*

Peter pushes open Neal’s door and sets a plate with toast and a cup of orange juice on the nightstand. He sets a plastic bucket on the floor near Neal’s head and then pulls a bottle of pills out of his pocket. He sets that down by the orange juice and sits down on the edge of the bed.

He brushes Neal’s hair away from his sweaty forehead. “Hey, buddy, I’m going to need you to wake up for a couple minutes.” Neal slowly uncurls from the ball he’s in and rubs one of his eyes. “I got you some medicine, but you need to sit up all the way, alright?” Neal nods slowly and sits up against the headboard. Peter finally gets his first good look at Neal and it doesn’t look good. His face is pale and he has dark shadows under his eyes. He takes two pills out of the bottle and gives them to Neal along with the orange juice.

Neal swallows with a grimace. He sets the glass down and spots the plate with toast. “Not hungry.” He croaks.

“I figured as much, but you need to eat something. Just have two bites and then you can go back to sleep.” Neal sighs and takes the plate, too tired to argue. He takes two small bites and then hands the plate back to Peter. “Thank you. There’s a bucket here if you get sick and I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.” Peter gets up and ruffs Neal’s hair as he settles back into a ball. He leaves the toast in case Neal gets hungry later.

Peter goes downstairs and calls in sick for him and Neal, asking for some files to be brought to his house so he can work from home.

“No problem, Peter. I’ll send Barrigan over right away.” Hughes says. “Tell Caffrey I wish him a speedy recovery.” 

“I will, thanks.”

*line break*

After thirty minutes, Peter hears a knock at the door and answers to see Diana holding a box of files.

“Hey, Di. Thanks for this.”

“No problem, boss. How is he?” Diana asks as she sets the box on the coffee table.

“Sleeping so far. I got him to eat a couple bites of toast, but that’s it.” Right after Peter says this he hears Neal call for him from upstairs. “Speak of the devil.”

“Well, I’m going to get back to the office before I catch whatever he has. Hope Neal feels better.” Diana turns to the door.

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again for the files.” Peter pats her on the shoulder as he passes to go upstairs. Diana gives a two finger salute as she leaves. 

Peter cracks Neal’s door open and enters the dark room. Neal’s sitting up and hunched over the bucket. “Hey, you’re alright, kiddo. I’m right here.” Peter sits down and starts to rub his back as he gags. “Just let it out.”

Neal coughs and spits into the bucket. “It feels like somethin’ is tryin’ to crawl out of my stomach.” Neal leans into Peter in exhaustion, so Peter wraps an arm around Neal in a half hug. “Can you just shoot me and put me out of my misery?” 

Peter rests his chin on top of Neal’s head. “As much as you annoy me sometimes, no. Sorry.” Peter gives Neal a quick kiss on the head. “How do you feel, kid?”

“Like I got hit by a semi, then they backed up over me, and then ran over me again.”

“I figured as much.” Peter eyes the untouched plate from this morning. “Do you want to try to eat something? I can heat up some soup and you can lay on the couch.”

“If I say no you’re just going to make me eat something else, aren’t you.” Neal states it as a fact.

“No, but you really should have a couple bites of something.” Neal sighs and wraps one of the blankets on the bed around himself while grabbing his pillow.

“Fine, but I get the tv remote.”

*line break*

Peter comes downstairs after rinsing out the bucket to find Neal laying on the couch with Antique Roadshow on. “Have you spotted any forgeries?” Peter asks as he replaces the box of files with the bucket on the coffee table.

Neal yawns before answering in a bored tone. “The porcelain doll that’s on right now is a fake.” 

Peter drops the box on the table and whips around. “Really?” He aska in a tone of disbelief as he half jogs over to the tv.

“Yup.” Neal pops the p. “The blush is the wrong shade of red.” They watch for a minute before the host on the show repeats what Neal had told Peter. “Told you.”

Peter nods in amazement, going to the kitchen to heat up some soup. Drugged out of his mind on flu medicine and he  _ still _ is incredible at what he does. 

*line break*

Peter manages to coax Neal to eat a couple bites of chicken noodle soup and drink some water before he falls back asleep on the couch. Peter gets a couple of hours worth of work done and then takes a break at two to make a sandwich. After he finishes eating, he hears Neal groan on the couch. Setting his plate in the sink, he heads over to the couch to check on Neal. “How are you feeling?” Peter asks as he feels his forehead.

“L’ke crap.”

“I bet. You still feel warm, but not as bad as this morning. It’s been long enough, do you want to take anymore medicine?” 

Neal nods, so Peter grabs a glass of water and two more pills from the bottle, taking it over to Neal, who is sitting up now. “Don’t drink this water too fast or you’ll get sick again, okay?”

Neal nods again, grimacing at the bitter pills. “How’s work so far?”

“A blast.” Peter says sarcastically. “You want a couple files?”

“Think I’ll pass on that one.” Neal replies as he lays back down.

“You sure? I don’t want to be hogging all the fun.” Peter smirks.

Neal just rolls over away from Peter.

*line break*

Around five Neal wakes to the smells and sounds of someone cooking. Getting up slowly, he wraps the blanket around his shoulders and He takes a seat at the kitchen island to watch Peter cook. Peter turns around and spots Neal. “You’re starting to look better.” Peter notes, some color returning to Neal’s face.

“I’m starting to feel better. It doesn’t feel like there’s a mariachi band in my head anymore.”

“Are you hungry? Do you want the rest of your soup?” Neal nods, so Peter puts it in a bowl and microwaves it. “Bon appetit. Would you like some orange juice with that, sir?” Peter puts on a bad french accent.

Neal chuckles at the horrible accent. “Why yes, monsieur. Merci.” 

“Good accent there.” Peter comments as he pours a glass of juice. “Although it’s cheating since you  _ speak  _ french.”

Neal shrugs. “Schematics. So, what’cha makin’ there iron chef?” He asks as he sips the soup.

Peter sighs. “Well, I’m trying to make chicken and rice. That’s simple, right?” Peter takes the chicken off the skillet. Neal winces as Peter begins to cut into it immediately. “What?”

“It’s just, after you cook meat you should let it rest a couple minutes before cutting into it. That way you don’t lose moisture in the form of steam and it won’t dry out.” Peter just starts at Neal for a moment. “What?”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Mozzie taught me.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Of course he did.”

*line break*

After Neal finishes the soup he attempts, and luckily succeeds, at taking a shower without causing any bodily harm to himself. He comes back downstairs in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants to find Peter sitting on the couch watching the game and nursing a beer. “How was your dry chicken?” Neal asks as he flops down next to Peter. 

Peter looks him up and down. “You sound better. Here, put this under your tongue.” He hands Neal the thermometer. Neal starts to put up a fight, but Peter speaks over him. “Now. Or you’re going back up to bed.” Neal gives in, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, but takes the tv remote and starts to flip through the channels. He settles on the food network and grabs a pad of paper.

_ Now you can learn how to properly make chicken. _

Peter looks up at Neal after reading the note and glares at a smirking Neal. The thermometer beeps after a minute and Peter checks it. “99 degrees on the nose. Must have been a twenty-four hour bug. Looks like you’re going to be able to go to work tomorrow and get caught up on what you missed today.”

“You know, I’m really not feeling well again. Maybe I should stay home again tomorrow, just to be safe. I wouldn’t want anybody else getting sick.”

“Well, in that case,” Peter gets up and picks Neal up over his shoulder fireman style. “Back to bed with you.” Peter exclaims. 

“Peter? Peter, put me down!” Neal tries to wiggle out of Peter’s hold, but he has too good of a hold on him. He complains the whole way up and to the bedroom. “Let go of me!” Neal says through a fit of giggles from Peter tickling him.

“Alright then.” Peter drops Neal onto the bed.

“Jerk.” Neal says, laughter still thick in his voice.

Peter sits down next to him out of breath. “I think you strained my back.”

Neal scoffs. “ _ I  _ did? You’re the one who threw me over your shoulder.” Neal shoves Peter with his knee. 

Peter gets back up and throws the tv remote to Neal’s tv at him. “There. Now you can watch your fancy cooking shows while I go watch the end of the game.” Peter starts for the door, but stops just before leaving and turns around. “And I can cook just fine.” After that, he turns around and leaves for good.

“Just being able to cook pot roast doesn’t count!” Neal calls after him.

*line break*

The next morning Neal wakes up energized and refreshed. He heads downstairs and only sees El sitting at the table eating breakfast. “Where’s Peter?” He asks as he gets a plate of pancakes and bacon. He sits down across from El and digs in.

“Well, it looks like you got your wish.” Peter says from behind him. Neal turns around and sees him wrapped in a blanket. “Whatever you had I managed to catch.”

“You know, you were right yesterday. I should really go to the office today and get caught up on what I missed yesterday.” Neal starts to get up, but Peter puts his hands on Neal’s shoulders and pushes him back down.

“Oh no. You’re staying here while El goes to stay with a friend before she catches this too.”

“Sorry, sweetie. You two have fun now.” El waves goodbye and leaves with a duffel bag that was sitting by the door.

“And since I’m the one sick today, that means I get the remote and  _ you  _ get to be the one that rinses out the sick filled bucket.” Peter pats Neal on the back and goes over to the couch. Neal groans and says some unchoice words under his breath. “What was that?” Peter asks from the couch.

Neal puts on a fake smile. “Oh, goody!”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

Neal rolls his eyes and gets to work, breakfast forgotten.


End file.
